


Kowalski's Bakery

by Corpium



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Bakery AU, CW for Mary Lou's existence, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, Gen, M/M, Magic still exists, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-13 15:10:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9129838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpium/pseuds/Corpium
Summary: Credence needs a home. Jacob needs an assistant. Modesty needs a guardian. And Newt, according to Queenie, needs a roommate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be a series of drabbles. Lol I should've known better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob needs an assistant.

Jacob comes home from the war after a year with an eye patch and a medal. He doesn’t much care for either of them, but the injury compensation that the eyepatch comes with allows him to start up his own bakery without going to the banks, so he’ll take it.

The bakery starts out small; he buys a one-room office beneath his little studio and outfits it with the bare minimum of equipment. He uses both the oven in the bakery and the one in his studio at first, and he runs back and forth between the two seemingly more than he ever ran in the war. It’s hectic business, just him managing the whole thing, but hectic is good. Hectic means customers constantly, factory workers in the wee hours of the morning, the white collar crowd around 8, the housewives between 9 and 11, and everyone during the lunch rush. Business is good.

So good that he’s able to buy a _real_ place a year later, a nice-sized corner shop in Manhattan near the Woolworth Building with a _real_ kitchen and even a nice-sized fridge and freezer.

It’s amazing. He feels truly blessed. There’s only one more thing he needs: an assistant.

 

o—o—o

 

Jacob doesn’t plan to hire Credence Barebone. It just sort of… happens. Maybe it’s fate or something.

He bumps into Credence while the poor kid’s passing out flyers and spills coffee all over him. “Aw, jeez. Sorry, kid,” says Jacob.

“Sorry - it’s fine, sir,” mumbles the kid at the same time, kneeling down to pick up the mostly soaked flyers. He’s covered in coffee himself and he’s actually shaking. Like hell it’s fine.

“It’s not your fault,” says Jacob, bending down to help. The kid doesn’t even make eye contact — maybe it’s the eye patch? It does tend to freak people out sometimes. “I ran into you. Curse of having only one eye, you know?

“Curse?” the kid asks, looking up for the briefest of moments.

Jacob glances between the kid and the flyers, raising his eyebrows. “You really believe this stuff?”

The kid looks down and steps away, trying to shuffle his sopping wet papers together. He glances around like he’s checking to see if anyone’s listening. “Witches are among us,” he says, voice flat and empty. It strikes Jacob then that he’s heard that sort of voice before. Lieutenant O’Malley had spoken with that same lifelessness right before he put a bullet through his brain.

“Were you in the war?” Jacob asks hesitantly. The kid doesn’t look it, but he might just be old enough....

The kid looks at him in confusion, shaking his head. “No, sir. Why?”

Jacob shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” It does matter. It matters a lot. Something’s _wrong_ with this kid. “Hey, look, I own a bakery down the street. Why don’t we go there and get that coffee taken care of before it stains too bad, huh?”

“Oh, I couldn’t—“

“Psh,” Jacob scoffs. “I ran into you, soaked you in coffee, and you _still_ didn’t bite my head off. Far as I’m concerned, I owe you one.” He grabs the kid by the arm and pulls him on down the street. “Come on.” The kid goes surprisingly willingly. “My name’s Jacob. What’s yours?”

“Credence. Credence Barebone,” the kid says like he’s ashamed of it.

“Well, it’s nice to meet ya, Credence.”

 

o—o—o

 

Credence should not have followed the coffee guy. What he should have done is go back to the church, take his punishment, and get new flyers, if Mary Lou would let him. Now he’s going to deserve so much worse. All the same, when Credence gets to the door of the bakery, he can’t bring himself to turn back.

The bakery’s a work in progress. The walls are a thin white; the sign’s freshly painted but without an extra garnishes or trappings; and the few shelves are heaped with pastries. Credence’s stomach cramps at the sight.

“I’m, uh, still fixing up the place, so it’s not very impressive yet, but it’s gonna be great once it’s done,” Jacob tells him as he leads him back into the kitchen. Two massive ovens take up most of the outer wall, making it easy to vent the heat outside.

Jacob grabs a washcloth from under the industrial-sized sink opposite the ovens and hands it to Credence. “Soap and water should do fine, I hope,” he says, nodding at the sink.

Credence looks at the flyers in his hand, wondering where to set them. The kitchen looks so warm and bright — the flyers simply don’t belong.

“Ah,” says Jacob, reaching for the flyers, “I can trash these if you want—“

Credence flinches back, clutching them to his chest.

“Or we can just set’em down for a while, too, that’s fine,” he says dubiously, and Credence swallows down embarrassment and nods, allowing Jacob to grab the flyers and put them on the flour-dusted table in the middle of the room.

“This place is very nice,” Credence says softly as he dabs himself down. It won’t be good enough to pass Mary Lou’s inspection, of course, but perhaps he can minimize the damage in advance this way.

“Thanks,” Jacob says. “I’m thinking of adding some small tables in the middle, make more room for the pastries you know. Right now they’re all heaped up on top of each other — not very visually appealing in my opinion, and that matters, you know, when it comes to stuff like this. Gotta give the walls another coat of paint, too. Something warm, not white like they are now.”

There’s a pause while Jacob looks at Credence expectantly for a second, then away, and Credence realizes he’s supposed to respond. He doesn’t know what to say, though. He never does. “It… smells good here. Even if it’s not nice-looking, I think…. I think people will come anyway.”

Jacob smiles, making Credence exhale in relief. “I sure hope so. Say, you should try one! What do you like?”

“Oh. I — it’s fine. I don’t need anything—“

“You seem like a danish kind of guy. Let me go get one.”

And before Credence can argue, Jacob’s bustling off into the storefront.

Credence glances down at himself. The white of his collar’s more of a yellow now, but at least the majority of it’s spilled onto the black of his coat. Maybe he could leave the flyers here… tell Mary Lou he passed them out. But sometimes she comes to check on him, or gets one of the children to do it for her. She probably knows already that Credence left his post. Oh, Credence is going to pay for this.

“Here,” says Jacob, snapping Credence out of his thoughts. He’s taking the cloth away and pushing a danish, flaky and soft, into his hands before Credence can process the action. “Try it!”

Credence wants to give it back, but Jacob looks so eager, and Credence’s hands have already touched the thing. So he does. It’s buttery and rich, and the sweet cheese melts on his tongue. Mary Lou would call it sinful, he’s sure. Eating is for survival, not pleasure, and this…. “This is amazing,” Credence says.

“Yes!” says Jacob. “It’s a family recipe, my grandma’s. I’ve never made it in such a big batch before, so I’m glad you like it. You sure it’s not too buttery?”

Credence shakes his head. “It’s delicious.” Then he doubts, as he does. “I haven’t had very many danishes before, though, sorry.”

“Nah, don’t apologize. I’ll just have to bring you back in to try some more another day, huh? Fatten you up a bit.”

Credence stiffens. “I… I’d like that very much, sir, but I don’t think—“

“Call me Jacob.”

Credence nods, but he can’t bring himself to actually call the man by his first name.

“But you don’t think…” Jacob gestures for him to continue, and Credence struggles for words. “Did you not really like it?” Jacob asks.

Credence shakes his head violently, swallowing down the last of the danish hurriedly. “No, it really is delicious. It’s just… my flyers. I’m not supposed to waste time….” he trails off. He doesn’t want to call Jacob’s bakery a waste of time, but Mary Lou….

“Well, surely you gotta eat lunch, don’t you?”

Credence looks away, pressing back against the sink.

“I mean, this is your job, right? Of course it comes with a lunch break. But look, pal, I don’t wanna pressure you into coming into a bakery you don’t like. It’s fine—“

“No!” Credence blurts out. “I’d like to come back. It’s not really a job, I guess. It’s… I do this for my mother, for the church, I mean.”

Jacob looks at him oddly, thinking. “Say, why don’t you work here.”

Credence stares.

“Yeah, you know, it’s just me right now. And like I said, I gotta paint the walls, get some new furniture, maybe do something nice to the window. It’s rough, trying to do this all by myself. I need an assistant.”

“I don’t know how to bake,” Credence says dumbly. He doesn’t know how to do anything, really.

“That’s fine. I’ll teach ya. Might not be the best teacher, never have taught anyone before, but I can try, I guess. My grandma taught me and I’m not the brightest bulb in the box so it can’t be too hard, right?”

Credence continues to stare. He never thought he could get a job. He has no skills, and he’s not a good learner. And the more he’s aged, the more difficult it’s been to leave Mary Lou — where else would he go?

And he won’t leave Mar Lou. He can’t. But to make a little money on the side…. Maybe he could finally get Modesty a proper birthday present.

“Alright,” he says, almost breathless. “I’ll do it. I can’t do it all the time — I have to pass out flyers still — but if you still want, I’ll make it work.”

“Part-time is fine,” Jacob says. “I been doing this long enough on my own, any help will do. As long as you’re not passing flyers out here — sorry, I just think it’d be bad for business, you know — I’ll be happy to have you. Flexible hours and all.”

Credence stares some more.

“You alright there, buddy?” Jacob asks, a smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” says Credence, shaken. He inhales, breath shuddering. “Thank you, sir,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“Ah, it’s no problem,” Jacob says, clapping Credence on the shoulder. He doesn’t comment when Credence flinches away. “And I mean it, call me Jacob. Now, you got time now to roll up your sleeves and learn, or do you have to go do your flyer stuff? Either’s fine, by the way.”

He’ll pay for it later, but… “Yeah,” he says. “I have time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary Lou kicks out Credence.

Four months later, Credence stands in front of the dark bakery, shivering in the cold and turning the key over and over in his hands. He’d taken Modesty out to lunch as an early Christmas present, and Mary Lou had found out.

It must be past midnight by now, but plenty of people still mill about, most of them dressed up in groups, laughing and whispering in each other’s ears, on their way home from dinner or some of those speakeasies Jacob likes. A couple homeless people sit together at the corner of the block, a cup placed by their feet to collect change. Begging — that’s what Mary Lou expects him to do. Credence clenches his hand into a fist around the key, skin hot despite the cold. The metal cuts into his palm.

He won’t beg. He has a life now. He can do something now.

He unlocks the door and steps inside.

 

o—o—o

 

“You okay, pal? You look exhausted,” Jacob says when he comes in.

“Rough night’s sleep is all,” Credence says, careful to look Jacob in the eye. Jacob believes him more when he makes eye contact.

“Credence,” Jacob sighs like he wants to ask more, but before he can, the bell over the front door jingles, and Jacob goes out to work the counter. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite customers,” Credence hears him say. Credence continues kneading the bread, relieved by the distraction. He prefers to stay in the back when he can and let Jacob do the talking. Still, he smiles when he hears the Goldsteins answer.

“Good morning, Credence!” Tina calls.

Credence brushes his hands off on his apron and steps out of the kitchen, seeing Tina picking up one of the dog-shaped pastries displayed on the center table. “Morning, Miss Goldstein,” he says. Her sister, Queenie, leans over the counter, beaming at Jacob. He’s amazed she and Jacob haven’t started seeing each other yet.

There’s a man in a bold blue coat a few steps away from Tina, carrying a suitcase and looking around the room.

“This is Newt Scamander,” Queenie says, unprompted. “He’s visiting from Britain,” she says, leaning forward conspiratorially before standing up straight. Credence notes that Tina doesn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. “Newt, this is Jacob and his assistant Credence. They’re the best bakers in town.” She looks directly at Jacob when she says this.

Mr. Scamander looks up with a flash of a slightly awkward smile. “Hello,” he says, looking somewhere between Jacob and Credence, and Credence’s breath catches. Mr. Scamander’s very pretty —and Credence should not be thinking that. He should not be thinking that sort of thing at all. He looks down, brushing his hands off uselessly on his apron.

“English, huh? What brings you to New York then, Mr. Scamander?” Jacob asks.

“Oh, just Newt will do. I’m a — a zoologist. Here to study creatures—“ Tina elbows him— “animals, animals of New York.” Credence looks up and catches Scamander’s eye. Scamander looks away just as quickly, but Credence can’t take his eyes off him. Scamander almost seems nervous, the way he holds himself, but there’s a certain confidence in the set of his feet that belies him, as if he’s ready to jump into action at any moment.

“Ha,” Jacob laughs. “So you gonna study the alligators in the sewers then?”

Scamander looks at him oddly. “Yes, how did you know?”

Jacob looks taken aback, and Tina elbows Scamander again.

“Joke. That was a joke,” Scamander says. It does not sound like he was joking, Credence thinks. What an interesting man.

Queenie’s looking at him. Credence hates when she does that; she always looks like she’s on the verge of saying something she knows he won’t like. “It’s nice to meet you,” Credence says with a fleeting glance back at Scamander. “The blueberry muffins are really good.” He slips back into the kitchen before anyone can respond.

“Huh,” he hears Jacob say. “That’s more than he says to most people.”

Queenie says. “Oh, I think you two would get along well, Newt! You’ll have to come again with us tomorrow morning.”

Credence’s face burns. He didn’t think he’d given that much away.

 

o—o—o

 

After another chilly night at Kowalski’s Bakery, Credence caves to his cravings and buys himself a knapsack, a small pillow, two thin blankets, and three changes of clothes. Mary Lou had only let him leave with the clothes on his back, and he’s lucky he’d opened a bank account two weeks ago instead of storing his wages under the floorboards like he originally had. It’s wonderful to wear clean clothes again. He’s not sure when he’ll be able to wash them, though. He certainly can’t do it here in the bakery.

“Hey, you’re here early again,” Jacob says the third morning as Credence carefully slides a tray of donuts out one of the ovens. “Done passing out flyers?”

Credence considers his answer. He’s been dreading questions like this. “I’m done working for Mary Lou, actually. I’m looking for an apartment now.” And he is, but… it’s not going well. He doesn’t know where to start. He’d seen a flyer for a place near the bakery taped to the pole of a street light, but the rent was far too high. Before Mary Lou had kicked him out, he’d only been able to work about fifteen hours a week. He’d made more money than he ever imagined having, but it still wasn’t enough. He’ll have to try a different neighborhood.

He doesn’t expect Jacob to clap him on the shoulder, beaming. “I’m glad you finally got out of there, pal. So where ya stayin’?

Credence’s thoughts stutter to a halt. “You’re… glad?”

Jacob stuffs his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight. “Look, I know she was —is— your ma, Credence, but…. It’s not my business to be saying this, but she sure didn’t act like one. You didn’t deserve that.”

Looking somewhere over Jacob’s shoulder, Credence’s gaze goes out of focus. He feels… brittle. The still hot tray of donuts shakes in his hands. “Aw, jeez, kid—“ Jacob grabs an oven mitt and takes the tray from him, hastily setting it on the table.

“Sorry—“

“Nope. Not hearing it. Come’ere, you,” says Jacob as he pulls Credence into a hug.

Credence freezes. Jacob’s nudged him and clapped him on the shoulder and even ruffled his hair before, but they’ve never hugged. It’s like Credence walks around with an invisible barrier around him. But now, Jacob doesn’t seem to care about it. He’s warm and safe and for a moment Credence stops worrying about where he’ll stay, about what will happen to Modesty, about the terrible guilt he feels for leaving Mary Lou even though she was the one who told him to leave. For a moment, it’s all muffled.

He hugs back, awkward and tentative. Jacob doesn’t seem to mind.

The bell above the front door rings, and Jacob pounds him on the back before pulling away. “Alright, back to work. Gotta beat that morning rush,” he says with a grin.

 

o—o—o

 

Modesty comes into the bakery later that afternoon, tear tracks on her face, and Credence panics. “Mr. Kowalski—“ he tears off his apron and tucks it under the counter— “Mr. Kowalski, I swear I’ll be right back, but I have to—“ He doesn’t want to risk Jacob or any of the customers overhearing their conversation.

Coming out of the kitchen and wiping his hands on a towel, Jacob looks between Credence and Modesty, alarmed. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead, it’s fine.”

“Thanks,” Credence says, already halfway out the door with Modesty.

When they’re outside, tucked around the corner of an alley, Credence puts his hands on Modesty’s shoulders. “What happened?”

“I—“ Modesty sniffles— “I had a wand. It was just a toy! James made it; we were only playing, I swear—“

“Mother found it,” Credence says, realization seeping in like boiling water. Mary Lou had found Modesty with a wand, and for the first time Credence hadn’t been there to take the blame.

Modesty nods, wiping at her eyes. “My back hurts,” she says, and Credence’s jaw tightens. This isn’t right. It was never right. But especially now. Not Modesty.

“Stay with me,” he says. Modesty looks up with wide, desperate eyes, and Credence flushes, self-conscious. “I don’t actually…. I don’t have an apartment yet, but I’m going to…. I plan to get one, I promise I will.”

“Anywhere’s better than the church,” Modesty says.

“Even the bakery?”

“Especially the bakery.”

 

o—o—o

 

Jacob mans the counter while Credence cleans Modesty’s back in the bathroom attached to the kitchen. “It’ll probably scar,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Mary Lou was worse than the witches she preached against, to have done this to Modesty. She deserved hell.

“Why didn’t you leave sooner?” Modesty asks.

Why didn’t he? Even now, only three days later, it’s so much clearer to him that he should have left, that he could have left at any point. Most would have by the time they turned 21. But Credence stayed. Why did he stay? “I think,” he says slowly, “that I stayed for you. And because I didn’t think I had anywhere else to go, and no money to pay for food or housing while I looked for work. I guess that’s why I’ve been sleeping here these past few nights…. I didn’t think I could do it, what I’m doing now.” For a long time, he never thought he could do anything.

He pulls the washcloth away from her back. “I think it’s stopped bleeding now.” He eyes her shirt. It’s all she’s got, and there’s blood on the back of it. “We’ll buy you new clothes after I’m done with work.” He’s grateful for his frugality now. He hadn’t expected to be caring for Modesty so soon.

She pulls the shirt back on. “I’m glad you left, Credence,” she confides.  He almost smiles, but then he hears something awful coming from the front of the shop: Mary Lou.

“—know she’s back there!” Modesty looks at Credence in terror. “Don’t try to lie to me, Mr. Kowalski!”

“Credence—“ Modesty says, voice small.

“Stay here and lock the door.” Credence takes her by the shoulders. “I won’t let her get you, I promise,” he says, and he goes to face his mother, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

“Ma’am,” Credence hears Jacob’s voice say, “I’m asking you to leave.”

“You have no right—“ Mary Lou begins, voice cold and furious. She stops when she sees Credence in the doorway of the kitchen. “Credence,” she says stiffly, eyes narrowing, upper lip lifting ever so slightly in disgust, and Credence….

Credence stands tall for the first time in his life. Rage rushes through him, turning his skin hot and then cold and then hot again, and his jaw clenches so tightly it pains him for a second. “Mary Lou,” he says. “Mr. Kowalski told you to leave.”

“You have no right to speak to me like this.” She turns her gaze on Jacob. “Do you know who it is you have working for you? Do you know what he is?” She lifts her chin, drawing her shoulders back, like she’s preaching. “He’s a thief who’ll eat you out of house and home and give nothing back in return. He’s a lazy and incompetent good-for-nothing, and apparently he’s a kidnapper now, too.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kowalski. You can’t trust him. I tried my best when I raised him, but I failed. I should have come to see you sooner.”

“Oh, go tell it to Sweeney, lady. The whole city knows you’re full of horseshit. Get outta here,” says Jacob. “Please,” he adds with a grand gesture to the door.

Mary Lou visibly restrains herself, face tight. “Whatever you may think of me, Mr. Kowalski,” she says softly, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re aiding and abetting in the kidnapping of my daughter. However will you manage to run your bakery from prison?” She looks at Credence. “Now bring me Modesty.”

Credence feels himself hunch as he looks between her and the fuming Jacob. He can’t let Jacob go to prison, but he can’t let Mary Lou get Modesty back, either. But Jacob nods ever so slightly at him, so Credence straightens again. “She’s not here,” he says. 

“Credence,” she hisses, taking a step forward, and Credence finds himself taking a step forward in turn.

“Leave, Mary Lou.” Something terrible surges forth inside him, twisting and churning, frothing at his edges. His breath quickens and his fingers tremble as he swallows it down. Mary Lou looks at him suspiciously, like she always does, and it makes the terrible thing inside him claw for release. “Don’t make me make you,” Credence murmurs.

She steps back quickly, going pale. “I always knew there was something wrong with you,” she says. She looks at Jacob. “You’d better be careful, Mr. Kowalski.” She turns around and brushes past him, adding, “I’ll be praying for you,” and then she leaves.

Credence exhales in relief, that terrible thing inside him settling into quiet restlessness, but he freezes mid-breath when he sees Jacob staring at him. “Jacob?” he asks, suddenly afraid.

Jacob shakes his head. “Musta been a trick of the light,” he mutters, then beams. “I’m prouda you, kid,” he says, walking over. He punches Credence lightly in the shoulder, ignoring Credence’s flinch away. “Wasn’t sure you had it in you.”

“You’re not worried? About prison?”

“Oh, I’m worried alright, but not too worried.” He looks out at the customers in the bakery, and it’s only then that Credence realizes they have an audience. Three of them pointedly eye the pastries, faces flushed. Another two sit at one of the little tables by the windows — they’re dressed slightly differently than the rest, and they watch on unabashedly. The blood drains out of Credence’s face. “After all,” Jacob says loudly. “No one saw that woman’s little girl here, did they?”

At least the couple at the table definitely had, but they and the three standing customers all shake their heads in the negative, and the couple share a look and a small smirk. It would seem Mary Lou isn’t very popular.

Jacob grins. “See, it’s all fine.” He nods back at the kitchen. “Go on back there. I’ve got the shop covered.”

“Thank you,” Credence says. “You have no idea how grateful I am.”

Jacob snorts. “It’s no problem. Looks like I’m the lucky one here, really. You’re working officially full-time now, right?” 

Credence ducks his head and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

 

o—o—o

 

He takes Modesty out shopping that evening, and when he returns with her, he spots Mary Lou lurking outside the bakery. He takes Modesty out for dinner, another blow to his bank account, and when they come back, Mary Lou’s gone.

She comes again the next morning, and the morning after that, and that evening Credence visits an apartment in a seedier part of town. He could probably afford it, but he can’t imagine leaving Modesty there alone. Ever.

How do people do it? Finding an apartment surely can’t be this difficult. And there’s only so long he can keep hiding her at Jacob’s, especially when he’s staying the night at the bakery without Jacob knowing.

The Goldsteins and Scamander walk in the next morning. Working the till, Credence barely notices, he’s so distracted. Modesty’s in the back of the kitchen, reading a book of fairytales that he got her. She’d picked it out herself. She’s always been so much bolder than him.

He can’t keep her holed up in the back of the kitchen forever. Mary Lou will see her one way or another if she stays, and Jacob will eventually start to ask why Credence doesn’t have a home to keep her in. And she needs schooling — Credence doesn’t have the knowledge to homeschool her like Mary Lou was supposed to be doing, if one could even call that a proper education.

There’s just so much he has to figure out, and he has no idea how to do it.

“Credence, sweetie, you in there?” Queenie asks, right in front of his face, and he jerks back, startled.

“Miss Goldstein! Sorry. I was… lost in thought. How can help you?”

“Oh, it’s no problem, honey. I was just saying, if you know anyone who needs a roommate, let us know. Newt’s looking for one.”

“I am?” asks Scamander, and Queenie gives him a look. “Oh, yes. Yes, I suppose I am.”

Credence looks between the trio, noticing Tina’s furious glare aimed at Queenie and Scamander’s befuddlement. This… isn’t right. “Did Jacob tell you I was looking for a roommate?” But that can’t be right, either, since Jacob thinks he’s found housing already.

“Oh, I can’t say he did,” says Queenie. “But isn’t this a wonderful coincidence? I’m sure you and Newt will get along swell.”

“Are you… actually looking for a roommate?” Credence asks Scamander, because it seems quite clear to him that Scamander has no clue what’s going on.

“I don’t think—“ Tina starts, but Queenie kicks her in the shin with a smile.

Credence looks down. Scamander definitely has no idea what’s going on, and Credence isn’t about to force himself on the man. “I really couldn’t—“

“Yes!” says Scamander, resting his hand on his coat pocket. Something in it seems to… wiggle for a second. “Yes, I am. I don’t know for how long, though. I travel a lot, you see. But I have a lease for at least another six months, and with rent prices the way they are, it really would do for me to get a flatmate. You could move in right away.”

Credence stares. He seems to be doing that a lot. “I, uh, have a younger sister, if that’s alright, Mr. Scamander.”

“Of course it would. I’m sure she’s lovely.”

Credence stares some more. “Then. Yes. I guess.” How is this happening? “Thank you.”

“No need for thanks, you’re doing me a favor, it seems,” Scamander says with a glance at Queenie. “And call me Newt.”

Credence swallows. Scamander — _Newt_ — is altogether too pretty, and this is a terrible idea. Absolutely terrible. But Modesty….

Jacob clears his throat from behind Credence, distracting him from his staring at Newt. “Kid. Where have you been staying these last few days?”

Oh, no. “I—“ he wants to say a hotel, but the words just won’t come. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kowalski.”

“Oh, so it’s Mr. Kowalski again, huh, Mr. Barebone?” Credence winces, and Jacob sighs. “Credence.” He looks up at the ceiling for a moment like it pains him. “You should’ve told me. You could’ve taken the couch!”

“Sorry, Mr. — Jacob.”

“Don’t give him a hard time, Jacob,” says Queenie. “He’s going through a real transition right now.”

How does Queenie know this?

“I’m just good at reading people,” she explains, and Tina kicks her again. “Ow, Tinnie,” she whispers.

Jacob shakes his head and claps Credence on the arm as he walks back into the kitchen. “Glad you found a home, pal — Queenie! I whipped up something special for you. I’ll be right back.”

Tina tugs Queenie away, and the two start whispering furiously at each other, leaving Newt and Credence staring at each other without actually making eye contact, or rather, Credence stares at Newt while Newt looks somewhere in the vicinity of his shoulders. “Ah, let me just….” Newt mumbles, pulling out a notepad and scribbling something down… with a feather. Why is his pen a feather?

“Here’s the address,” Newt says, passing him the notepad. The texture of the paper’s a little odd, but Credence decides not to question it. He has too many questions already.

“Thanks,” Credence says, and then Jacob’s bustling back out of the kitchen with a cat-shaped Napoleon desert pastry. Newt and Credence watch on as Queenie gushes over the effort and skill Jacob put into it. Jacob smiles helplessly while Tina watches on in vague disapproval.

“So this evening then?” Credence asks, turning back to Newt.

“Ah, yes. Whenever you’re done with work.”

The bell over the door rings, and a raucous group of oddly dressed people come in. “Goldstein!” cries out one of them, and soon Jacob and the Goldsteins get swept up into the bunch with Queenie showing off the Napoleon.

“I should probably go,” says Newt, covering his pocket once again.

Credence nods. “I’ll see you this evening then,” he says, being extra careful not to look too hard at Newt’s squirming pocket.

He tries not to stare at Newt until the man leaves, but it really is rather difficult. It’s funny, though. The man not only has a squirming pocket, but the latches on his suit case pop open every so often.

Mary Lou would not like him _at all_.

Credence, however. Credence finds himself absolutely fascinated.

**Author's Note:**

> idk what i'm doing with this lol but it's gonna be fluffy (or at least, my brand of fluffy)


End file.
